Month: November 2020

I consider myself quite lucky to have been raised in a country that is so intricately affected by the politics of so many other countries. It has allowed me a knowledge of the world that I find so many people just don’t have.

My parents lived in the Turks and Caicos Islands (specifically the island of Providenciales) long before they had my sister and I (back when there were no paved roads and only one flight on and off the island each week) and they swear that they are going to spend the rest of their lives there too.

Turks and Caicos is an incredibly interesting and diverse country. It is made up of just over 40 islands with almost 40,000 inhabitants spread across those islands. It is a British Overseas Territory (having been “discovered” by Christopher Columbus in 1492) meaning it abides by British laws. However, most of the tourists visit from the USA and Canada. Due to this, growing up we followed and were affected by British, US, and Canadian politics.

I was taught from a young age to appreciate the nature that came with living in the Turks and Caicos. Most weekends were spent at the beach snorkeling, freediving, sailing, and kiteboarding.

We would boat out to uninhabited islands and spend the day there. Paddleboard through the mangroves. Surf at Mudjin Harbour. While this was an amazing childhood, it means that I have witnessed the heart-wrenching decline of the health of our reefs and ocean life.

Turks and Caicos definitely hasn’t been hit as hard by overfishing and climate change as many other countries, but it has been hit nonetheless.

Within the past couple of years our reefs, like many others around the world, have been affected by the rising ocean temperatures. When the temperature of the water is even slightly warmer than normal (even just by 2 degrees) the coral begins to bleach in a last effort to avoid the heat. After bleaching, the coral dies. And in a couple of weeks, all that is left is a coral graveyard.

Furthermore, there has been a major decrease in the shark population in the Turks and Caicos and around the world. Sharks are incredibly necessary to keeping reefs healthy as they keep the ecosystem balanced.

My favorite place in the whole world is in the mangroves just off the coast of Providenciales. Mangroves are small tree-type shrubs that grow in the shallow, marshy ocean water just off of the east coast of the island.

 

 

Mangroves are particularly entrancing to me because the shallow waters provide a nursery for young sea life. This means that when you paddleboard through the mangroves you are practically guaranteed to see juvenile fish, turtles, birds, Cassiopea jellyfish and shark pups. However, in the past year or so the number of shark pups that can be seen has dropped dramatically.

Cassiopea jellyfish are really interesting. They live upside down on the sand and have a symbiotic relationship with

the algae that grows on their tentacles. When the algae photosynthesis the jellyfish take some of the energy as their food. Due to this relationship, they have an incredibly minimal sting (almost none existent). They come in a range of colours and look kind of like flowers!

Sharks are my favorite animal. They are not the scary monsters that they are made out to be in movies. They are incredibly intelligent and sensitive. While you are swimming underwater they can sense your heartbeat and move in time with it! They are super inquisitive and will swim up to you to check you out but are smart enough to know that you aren’t food.

Due to shark finning (catching and killing sharks just to cut off their fins to eat them and throwing the rest of the body away) and sharks being caught as by-kill the shark population in the world has declined by upwards of 74%. This has had detrimental effects on the ocean ecosystem.

The Turks and Caicos is also home to many dolphins. The most well know is named JoJo (he even has an Instagram account that has over 72,000 followers). JoJo is special because he is so friendly. He will swim with humans and he loves to jump in the wake of boats. Another super friendly dolphin (named Baby Dream as he is still really young) can be easily found in the Turks and Caicos waters.

I think that whether we like it or not the places that we grow up affect us in many complicated ways. I know that growing in the Turks and Caicos Islands has largely made me into the person I am today and I feel that, as a writer, I would be doing a huge injustice to the country that I love to not incorporate it into my writing (even though this already happens unconsciously). Unfortunately, Turks and Caicos did get hit pretty hard by COVID-19. All flights on and off the islands got canceled which meant that many people and businesses struggled greatly as tourism is the main economy for the country. Many people my age who study abroad couldn’t go home this summer and going home for Christmas is going to be a difficult and complicated process.

I consider myself insanely lucky to have grown up in a country like the Turks and Caicos and I want to do anything I can to help protect the ocean life. However, the complexity that is involved with the death of coral reefs and the animals that consider them home makes it a difficult problem to wrap your head around. And, personally, I have very little hope that we will ever fix the damage that we have done. However, I believe that the first step towards change is education. After all, how can you care about something that you don’t know about? Below is a list of documentaries that you can check out to learn more about these horrific problems.

Chasing Coral

Sharkwater and Sharkwater Extinction

A Plastic Ocean

Mission Blue

My Octopus Teacher

I feel static in my bones when I touch door handles but now I wonder if everyone else does too. Do you all now feel a tightness in your chest, feel the cartilage connecting your sternum to your ribs evapourating when you hear a wheeze or cough or sneeze? Inadvertently tasting hand sanitizer because I put it on too soon before eating is less unpleasant than it is a comfort knowing my hands do not harbour the imagined pathogens that my head has made up. Purell Kills 99.9% of Germs. Do you also give yourself an extra, illogical pump for the 0.1% that was missed?

In all truth, I cannot help but feel a little insulted on behalf of myself and countless others because of how quickly the world was able to adapt to a remote, touchless existence, when it was convinced it couldn’t before. All the jolts of anxiety that have kept my mind busy as I’ve navigated life suddenly confused by the people around me adhering to my once irrational beliefs. You put your masks on when leaving your house, sanitize your hands after touching doors, but I’m genuinely curious; do you do it because you want the virus to wither and die and forget how to spread or do you suddenly feel the fear that I have for so long? Do you feel contaminated when you touch doors and gas pumps and debit machines? Has this life changed you?

Have you noticed how quick the switch was, yet how inaccessible it seemed before? How many people were told they couldn’t learn or work from home before, only to have their entire officeclassroomworkspace migrate into their living room maybe dining room maybe bedroom with condescending ease. How easy was it for you to adjust to a life conscious of the spread of disease, how easy to adapt and forget? Have you, too, forgotten? I see friends go out to restaurants and parties and cannot help but think differently of them, wonder what they see in the case numbers that I don’t. Is my brain still utterly irrational? Am I still subscribing to thoughts that don’t apply to the 99% of people with minds who don’t get stuck on repeat?

It’s a very odd time for obsessive-compulsive brains. On one hand, our minds are paradoxically being catered to. Our environment is being sterilized much to our liking, shaking hands is a currently dead custom (finally), we have what may be the best excuse to stay locked in our homes for an inordinate amount of time. On the other hand, new fears, upgraded, leveled up, reveal their ugly, malformed faces to us, prepared to fill empty shoes. A cough makes us shiver, a new case in our health region makes us retrace our steps, a tickle in our throat convinces us of the worst. Above all else, we watch helplessly as so many of those around us pretend it isn’t a problem. They close their eyes when the case counts rise and the age demographics drop and the bars stay open and the ones who do care try our hardest to prevent spread for what? For who? How can we help ourselves and others when service workers who have no choice but to risk exposure cannot vet who they come into contact with? When public buildings are vandalized with calls for freedom, undoubtedly written by a member of the freest demographic in this country. The freest there are call for their freedom to spread a virus while ignoring civil rights movements scattered across the world. How do you juggle all of these things happening at once? How do you process this information?

2020 has been the horror film in which I watch an irrational fear of the air becoming an unsafe place become a rational one. Suddenly, I’m the sane one for sanitizing my groceries when I bring them home. I’m the sane one for feeling anxiety around sick people, being afraid of hospitals, questioning who has touched the pen at the bank today. This newfound sanity, however, is perhaps overshadowed by the sheer insanity of the year we’re living in. While the chaos that has enveloped us in this year has been overwhelmingly negative, it has shown us all that even in crisis, we still adapt. It’s true, it started with fires and then plagues and then reminded us of civil unrest and then continued into in-real-life political satire and now we are being reminded of plagues once again, but we’re adapting, living in a new, bastardized version of “normal”; you’re reading a blog post in a writing class from a classmate that you will not see in real life this year, perhaps ever in your studies, though you’ve heard more of her real thoughts than many others have or probably ever will.

“Chaos is merely order waiting to be deciphered”- José Saramargo

The chaos that this year has brought us has not been kind to anyone, but I have had an especially tumultuous relationship with it. The paradox of being comforted by a more sterile environment because of its origin in a pandemic that I’m living through makes sense to nobody, least of all me. It seems to me like there’s a race going on in my head for every new bit of positive or negative information to get cancelled out before it can make a discernible impact on me besides resting normal. 2020 is a toxic partner that apologizes for their wrongdoings before I can get angry enough at them, promising to do better next time. I tell myself that our relationship is coming to an end soon, that 2021 will be kindergentlersofter, but a part of me believes that she hides a personality much like 2020. I wonder if we will all learn to simply live in this disarray as it comes to us; if chaos will be the new resting heart rate of life. For now, however, when 2020 apologizes and presents me with false comforts, sanitized door handles and strangers wearing masks and rejected handshakes, I will feel sane for a moment and I welcome this new temporary sanity with open arms for however long it lasts.

Note from the Astrologer (3rd gen.):

Whether you believe in astrology or not, the purpose of my writing experiment was to curate my personal view of the signs’ ups and downs during 2020 through my extended knowledge of the subject. Furthermore, this piece is dedicated to my grandmother, Gwendolyn, who is our first-generation astrologer in the family and has passed down her wisdom through my mother and myself.  Astrology’s purpose is to assist in your understanding of how one operates in, receives, and translates the world. Plus, astrology provides tips and advice for future endeavours specifically designed to your trajectory of life. However, with anything else online, please use discretion in who is providing what information; and, make sure you understand what you are reading, as well. The horoscopes below are solely based on the sun sign, while there is endless information from every other planet and transition and degree made the minute you were born.

Thanks for reading! If you have any further questions about your sign or your birth chart, feel free to contact me. I love to talk stars.

Brianna Canuel

 

The Aries in 2020 might have experienced some trials and tribulations, especially during the Mars retrograde that resided in their own sign from September 9 and lasted through until November 13. Mars is the planet of action and what drives us, so during this year the Aries might have felt slowed down or restricted by 2020 (again, especially during this retrograde period). However, on the other side of the retrograde is more money and sex than ever for Aries dominant people. After you learn to rest, you will notice you now have more energy to take the actions to accomplish your goals. Perhaps a creative surge will reinspire you to take up something you once tried long ago. This time, near the end of 2020, the Aries will be the most successful – once they drop the competitive ego, of course. The only competition that truly matters is with yourself.

The Taurus in 2020 might wonder why everyone had to panic in absurd ways and act out of their usual behaviours. Although, once a Taurus’ routine is thrown out of whack, they might not know what to do themselves, either. Perhaps while a Taurus is thrown off their track temporarily, it would have been a fine distraction to try some new recipes or new workout regime. I understand it can feel wobbly while almost everyone’s income is compromised, but even during 2020 the concept of To Give is to Receive still applies. If you can, a Taurus might benefit from donating or helping out where and when they can in their communities – especially during the restraints of COVID-19. Regardless, if you find it is yourself who could use the most R and R, it might be best to do that first – an empty cup cannot be poured from.

The Gemini in 2020 might have faced the big lesson of patience in 2020. “Good things come to those who wait” would have been a common mantra. And, practicing deep breaths would benefit any Gemini this year. Your energy will feel like things are just about to begin rolling and then all of a sudden…nothing – progress is halted by external circumstances out of your control. Perhaps the second lesson is/was: life cannot always be in your control. Furthermore, 2020 is showing you things you could have easily ignored without a pandemic; and now, you are facing the circumstances you needed to face, and only then will you fully appreciate the good things to come. Hold on, Gemini, and then let go of the unnecessary when you are ready.

The Cancer crab in 2020 kicks into their natural instincts of “hermitting” and hiding in their shell – I mean home – whilst the chaos continues around them. While Cancers are only trying to survive the year of 2020, finances and your wallet may have been the main focus of the last 10 and a half months. This is not to say you need to sew your wallet shut, or feel the desire to overspend, 2020 will merely show you what, when, and where it is best for you to spend or not spend from here on out (even if this means some change in how you usually do things that once worked for you). Perhaps your routine of spending will shift, like finally fixing that step out front instead of purchasing another cozy blanket for the winter season. Or, some Cancers will learn that it is okay to loosen the purse strings to have some fun, or the slightly more expensive bottle of wine is perfectly acceptable this Friday night. Whatever the case may be, be kind to yourself and allow the change to happen – I know this can be the most difficult part for a Cancer.

The Leo in 2020 might feel emotionally and/or physically drained by this point. It is not there has been major turbulence in your own life, but rather the people you connect with most seem to need your expertise this year; or, if they ignore your advice, you might have had to bite your tongue before saying “I told you so” (or, not). In whatever situation, give as much as they can take, and then treat yourself to a second toke or bubble bath, just because. Leo’s know how to take care of themselves, so why are you forgetting this in 2020? I know a Leo’s type of fun usually involves others, and this, as we know, has been difficult during the pandemic of COVID-19. Perhaps it will take a little convincing for some friends, but you should organize that Zoom party (possibly…an online shopping theme, somehow?) you had been curating. Or, organize that socially-distanced hiking group. Socializing for Leos can sometimes be rejuvenating, but take care and take note of when you need that rare alone time, as well.

2020 will teach the Virgo to take responsibility for your own happiness by structuring your life in a way that supports greater creativity, spontaneity, and joy. This will mean letting go of any fears and judgments keeping you from living life to the fullest. It will also mean saying yes more often to your inner child. Build a blanket fort for yourself or with your partner, make or purchase some kinetic dough or sand to let your imagination go, or indulge in that cartoon marathon you have been thinking about. Also, during the three retrogrades of 2020 the Virgo will be given time to truly assess who really fits in their lives, and who you truly want to keep around for an extended period of time. Lastly, hopefully you have been open-minded to new health regimes, as new trends were likely to spark your interest – be sure to do your research first, though (as Virgos do best).

In 2020, the Libra will experience some sort of metamorphosis (particularly an emotional one); whether this was a long-time coming, or an accelerated version from out of the blue, the transformation is of the utmost importance for your future self. Libras have experienced some hardships leading up to 2020, but this was the year for those past experiences to leave you with no choice but to face them straight on and nowhere else to hide. While this sounds especially frightening, I can promise you it is for your future self (perhaps even your now-self) to feel a million times lighter; so many weights will be lifted. Does that not sound wonderful, Libra? The Libra people are quite the oxymoron; I have considered them an iron fist in a velvet glove. In other words, while you appear delicate and aloof, Libras are built more of a stronger material and take a lot. However, 2020 will help you shed this metaphorical weight. You may look at it this way: the purpose of how heavy the prior years were was to feel this soon-coming lightness at an all-time high. Get ready, because Libras are about to FLY.

The Scorpio in 2020 would have had a slightly “easier” time than others, if there can be something of 2020 referred to as “easy.” While the Scorpio might question and challenge the world’s handlings of COVID-19, the Scorpio is well-versed in heavier energies, and perhaps for once they are relieved the heavy energy is not solely coming from them. Because Scorpio is a water sign, and their emotions run deep, Scorpios are able to empathize while producing intelligent solutions to the pandemic. They are the investigators of the zodiac, therefore their thirst for the truth could surpass any other actions taken in 2020. Regardless, the Scorpio will work mostly from the inside out, this year. From solving inner turmoil’s to improving a communication skill, Scorpios will have a more reclusive transformation.

In 2020, the Sagittarius would have had the opportunity to kickstart something big at the beginning of the year, and then the chance to clear past karma and break unconscious patterns no longer serving your best self, starting in the month of May. For example, that old habit of taking yourself too seriously; this is the year to lighten up and admit your mistakes. This is the year to focus on honesty, generosity, and positivity. While this may sound cheesy to some, by setting and achieving goals for your personal growth can only benefit the love you have for yourself. 2020 will also remind the Sagittarius that not only do your actions affect you, they affect everyone you interact with (and even some you do not). By the end of this year, you are encouraged to up your responsibility levels, whether you feel ready or not. To start, take responsibility for the energy you give out. And, keep showing up for yourself by nurturing your mind, body, and spirit. This way, you are able to show up for others.

Dear Capricorn…2020 is your year. And, by your year, I mean almost all transitions that took place this year had something to do with you…or at least a Capricorn’s energy. There has been harshness, devastation, and restructuring during this year, and it has been up to the Capricorns to lead us through. Surprisingly, the energy that was necessary from our leaders (Capricorns and politicians alike) was not the usual direct, forceful, and powerhouse way; but, rather a soft, open, and accepting vibe. If you, the Capricorn, can be an example of these qualities, I promise a lot of us will follow suit. However, while this sounds like a lot of responsibility, you will also be faced with the reality that, as strong and competent as you are, there is only so much a Capricorn can handle and accomplish on their own. How might your life be transformed if you allow someone in to lend a helping hand? Making plans and the domestic life in general may be strained this year, Capricorn. It is best to remember to stick together, rather than being divided and/or alone.

2020 encouraged the Aquarius to get comfy…and this concept is not usually in the typical Aquarius vocabulary. While it usually takes quite a lot to rattle your nerves, this year might have pushed you to your wits end, almost forcing you to understand how to be comfortable, still, and enjoy the moment for an extended period of time. Also, as much as you are the rebel and radical innovator, this year your desire for stability and security grew – but what if the most “punk-rock” thing you did this year is the fact you went back to basics and adopted a simpler lifestyle? And, if you have not done so yet, I would encourage at least considering this. 2020 strips you of the shiny and distracting things and draws your attention to things that really matter. Regardless, have no fear: it is about consciously choosing to stay within the limits that foster greater health, safety, wellbeing, and happiness for YOU.

The Pisces in 2020 will not find it easy to identify boundaries and connect with everyone like they usually do. As a water sign, you need some kind of “container” to give your life shape. This year will provide an opportunity to find this through participating in groups or social activities. While this poses a significant block during the pandemic, it is still recommended to loosen the familial ties, as you will have plenty of time to connect with them during the pandemic, in preparing for the potential to lose touch with yourself. Explore who you are outside your family dynamic, the Pisces may be pleasantly surprised. Fortunately, 2020 gave you the confidence to put yourself out there, and now can gain a clearer sense of the self, and more importantly, of who you are not. Do not be afraid to say “no,” – it will only empower you to say a more decisive yes for when you do know exactly what you want.

 

 

 

 

 

“I was driving down the street yesterday, and—I kid you not—there was a woman walking down the sidewalk carrying four Costco-sized flats of toilet paper.”

“Oh, I know. The rumours are true. It’s getting ridiculous.”

“These people are idiots for thinking that they are really gonna need any of it. More people have died from the flu for God’s sake. This cold is nothing to be threatened by—hey sweetheart! Would ya hit the bubble button for us old guys?”

You turn your attention to the men in the hot tub, although you’ve been listening to their conversation since they got it. You take your floatation aid off of your back and give the red button labelled jets a smack. You don’t want to touch it. Frankly, you don’t want to be anywhere near a germ-infested public pool at the moment, and you are in disbelief at the choices of the two senior citizens that sit in the hot tub shoulder-to-shoulder with nine others. Instead of resting your eyes, you have spent every off-deck rotation taking Lysol wipes to railings and anything else frequently touched. Your hands smell of disinfectant.

As you scan the pools, your eyes catch the cheerful grin of the kindest of the Maintenance men.

“Good morning!”

“Hey, Ray. How’s it been?” you ask.

“It’s a scary, scary world that we live in, isn’t it?”

“Sure is. I have been overhearing that there is a toilet paper shortage. Have you heard anything about that?” you question.

“Oh, it’s getting bad in those grocery stores. I am worried that patrons are going to start stealing from our washrooms. Luckily, I stocked up the other day. I live with my 86-year-old mother, you know, to care for her, but I’m immunocompromised. If either of us were to catch it, neither of us would survive. I felt bad stripping the shelves, but you’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do.”

You stand together in silence, listening to the water lap over the grates.

“Well, I think I’ve got to go hunt for some tonight. We are genuinely just on our last roll, and my roommate won’t let me forget that it’s my turn to buy,” you explain.

“Oh gosh, I have so many! I will bring some to work for you, no problem!” Ray exclaims.

“Wow, that is so incredible of you. Thank you so much for offering! How about I pull apart every store in town tonight, and I’ll let you know how I do tomorrow morning.”

“Sounds good. And don’t be shy! I’d be happy to help you out. Good luck tonight!”

“Thanks, Ray. Good luck yourself,” you call out as he disappears into the men’s changeroom.

You know you wouldn’t ask for any toilet paper from him. His mother needed it more than you did. You also know that you probably wouldn’t find any on your own, so you’ll have to figure something else out.

What you didn’t know was that that was the last time you would see Ray, for a long while at least. That evening you would receive two emails: one from the pool announcing its immediate closure, and one from the university telling you that it was time to go home.

• • •

You spend most of your days attempting to navigate online school. It isn’t until the evenings that you make your way downstairs to join your family in the living room. The TV is basically always on these days, usually broadcasting the news. As a family, you huddle around it to watch Dr. Bonnie Henry’s 3 o’clock updates. You move away from it to set off your car alarms at 7 o’clock. You eat dinner around it, play cards around it, brush the dog in front of it.

It’s about a month into quarantine, and you are feeling just as stressed out and nervous as everyone else. When you leave your studies to join your family every evening, it’s difficult for you to relax any more than you can while prepping for exams. The tension is in your hands. You can feel it.

So, you begin to pick up some new hobbies. For a couple of weeks, you march downstairs with a pencil case in hand. Adult colouring books—so underrated. Your dad even buys you a pack of felt pens off of Amazon. The following month

or so consists of needles and yarn. Yes, you learn to knit. YouTube tutorials can be brilliant coaches. You begin by making patterned squares and rectangles to practice. Soon after, you are able to make a little bunny that you will give to your mom for Mother’s Day and a neck warmer that you will give to your dad for Father’s Day.

 

The tension is in your hands, so it is your hands that you will distract.

• • •

Your body lifts off the driver’s seat as your tires skip across the lumpy backroad. You turn onto the road that points towards the golf course, and its dark. At the end of this road is a gate that you have driven through many times in order to get to the building that your brother emerges from every night after he has finished closing—mask-less.

The staff at the golf course aren’t required to wear masks because they spend most of their time outside. You have already had a fit about this. Sure, they are supposed to be social distancing, but who can say it actually happens? Can you trust 17-year-old boys to follow the rules? No; that is what you will learn tonight.

You arrive at the gate but, this time, it is closed, and there is a running car before it. The silhouette of your brother emerges from the bright headlights and fills the seat next to you. You both sit in silence as you clench your jaw so tight that your gums begin to ache. Finally, you make space in your mouth for words to slip out:

“Tell me you didn’t get in that car to drive up to the gate.”

There is a long exhale through his nose before his answer: “I did. So what?”

Another pause. If you would have replied right then, it would have been a scream followed by a sob.

Calmly, your shaky voice explains: “You can’t do that. Not only did you just break government restrictions, you just put our entire family at risk because you were too lazy to walk up a path. I am so disgusted and hurt. Promise me you won’t do anything like that again, and that you will shower the minute you step in the front door.”

“Fine.”

Later, you will find out that the first thing that he will try to do the next morning is get into someone else’s car. A few days after that, your mom will yell at you because you are being selfish and quarantine is hard on your brother too—a statement that you will never quite understand and, consequently, administer seven long, quarantined days of not talking to your family.   

The reality is that you have asthma and very low iron levels; you have shitty lungs and a weak immune system. You aren’t trying to pick fights or cause drama. You are just scared.

 • • •

You drive down the familiar road. It’s been over two and a half months since you had last made the trip. The government forbade it. But today is May 19^th, and he has been waiting for your arrival all day.

Once exams were finished, you had finally committed to seeing him. On the first afternoon, the two of you sat six feet apart in your backyard. He had brought his own lawn chair and walked around the side of the house. After that first meeting, he decided to clean off his family’s personal junk yard, otherwise known as his back porch. The next meeting you had was on that porch underneath the Christmas lights that he had hung and on top of the sparkling floor that he had scrubbed. The two of you would sit and talk for hours and hours; however, long it would last until someone had to pee. You would take cheesy relationship quizzes that you’d find on the internet and test each other.

“Mushrooms!” you exclaimed.

“Noooo…” he sang. “I knew that! I obviously knew that. I always order your pizza with no mushrooms. You should just give me the point anyway.”

“Nope! Not happening, sorry,” you told him. 

You would bring him a square that you had knitted in his favourite colour, place it on the table, and then move away so he could grab it whilst keeping the distance. Keeping the distance was unimaginable.

But now, it is May 19^th, and he is the first person who made the cut to be in your Safe Six.

You parallel park in front of his house and exhale deeply. You don’t know why you are so nervous, but you are practically shaking. You get out of your car and almost forget to lock the door. You see him standing in the open frame of his front door. Without lifting your glance, the two of you slowly move towards each other until you realize that all of your things are on the ground, and you are embraced in his arms.

The first time you have hugged anyone in two and a half months. The first time you have touched anyone in two and half months. The feeling is alien, and you will never forget it.

• • •

“So, we are about two hours in. I’ll give you guys your five-minute break now. Meet back at 11:05,” your professor calls out through Zoom.

You had decided to take a summer course. Might as well. You are stuck inside anyway. It is your first full course through Zoom; a preview of what is to come in the fall.

You turn off your video and grab your phone. You attempt to scroll through Instagram, but it leaves an uneasy feeling in your stomach. Every post addresses George Floyd or Breonna Taylor or Ahmaud Arbery. All of the recognition, it’s fantastic. It is also overwhelming. You scroll past a post that reads If you are being silent, I see you. You know that you are being far from silent. You have donated to different organizations, taken part in multiple conversations with your friends and family about the topic, and taken the time to educate yourself. The only problem is that you never posted about any of it publicly. Are you being you silent? No. Does everyone on social media know that? No. Should that matter? No, but deep down you feel like it does.

You shut off your phone and toss it across your bed, deciding to just wait out the last 2 minutes of your break.

• • •

You feel his muscles relax into your leg and gentle snores release from his nose.

Yes! He is finally asleep, you think.

The last week had been tough. Your puppy wasn’t feeling well. It took four visits to the vet and multiple prescriptions before he was rushed into emergency surgery. You had overheard your dad saying to your mom:

“This is exactly how Jake was acting during his last few days, right before they found all of the cancer.”

He was right. Loki was exhausted, throwing up, refusing to eat just like your last dog before he passed. When a Lab won’t eat, you know there is something wrong. There were a lot of tears that week. One of the hardest things to witness is your sick dog peering up at you with scared eyes as if they are saying help me.

It has now been four hours since he first fell asleep on you. It is the first time he has seemed comfortable since the surgery. You, however, share no such comfort. The laminate floor shoots pains into your ankle bones. The edge of his cone turns your thigh white. There is no back support as he chose the middle of the living room floor to lie down on you. The channel is stuck on a show that you have no interest in watching. It’s okay through. You find yourself mostly watching your puppy anyway. It makes you the happiest you have been in weeks.

 • • •

When the weather turns hot and the days lengthen out, you are able to find some normalcy in all of the craziness. Since the pools mostly remain close, you find a job as a full-time barista where the summer tips are nice. You turn nineteen and host an outdoor party of six. You take your dog to the beach once his stitches are out. You even plan a weekend hiking trip with your boyfriend. It is here where you take him ziplining for the first time. The tops of the trees were never introduced to the pandemic.

• • •

“Here is the Chai Tea Latte, and here is the Iced Mocha with no whip.”

“Thank you,” the couple says in unison.

You don’t wait for their reply. By the time they say the word you, you are already around the corner of the patio, hacking into your mask. The smoke is the

thickest it has ever been. You swiftly sneak into the staffroom to take a puff of your medication. You had phoned your doctor just yesterday, requesting an emergency inhaler. You haven’t been able to step outside without your chest tightening up like laces on a hockey skate.

Asthma and forest fires to not mix.

• • •

You begin to peel back the tape on the first box that you are unpacking into your first ever apartment. Or, that’s what you would be doing, you know, if 2020 wasn’t 2020.

It is officially fall, and you don’t like it. You spend your days studying and your nights making coffees or vise versa. The sun sets at 4:30 pm, and it’s been raining for at least a month. You are bored and exhausted. You want to read and colour and knit and do yoga and mediate and sleep, but, frankly, there is no time. So, instead, you count down the days until the semester is over and daydream about your almost-apartment while sitting in your noisy house.

• • •

It is November 8^th, and new restrictions have just been posted. The second wave is making an appearance. You spend the afternoon texting your friends:

 

 

 

 

 

Your mom walks into the kitchen where you are frowning at your phone.

“This sucks. It’s reading break, and I was finally going to get to see my friends, but of course attention-seeking Miss ‘Rona’s been feeling neglected lately,” you say.

“You need to calm down. It’s only two weeks. Just reschedule,” she says.

“I don’t mean to sound pessimistic, Mom, but it won’t only be two weeks.”

---

You are me. This is an imitate view of the kinds of things that have been going on in my personal life during the historic year of 2020. Although, I have not felt much inspiration to write throughout this year, I am quite certain that the year as a whole will be a massive influence on any of my future writing, as it will for any and all future writing in general. For recent assignments, I have already created a corrupt society on a fictional planet, as well as written about the absurdity of how the education system is dealing with COVID 19. Both of these include a toxic, controlling environment. Hm, I wonder what could have placed those thoughts into my head? I know that neither of these pieces would exist if it weren’t for the events of 2020. What an awful, dehumanizing, makes-you-think, inspirational year.

 

Every Saturday afternoon, on my way home from work, I go drive by people protesting wearing masks; on Water Street, in downtown Kelowna, just before the bridge crossing the lake to Westbank. I have seen them there for the past few months, cheering and jeering at those who drive past, with signs declaring that a face mask is the work of the devil or used as an obscure way for the federal government to brainwash its citizens. This group is relatively small, ranging roughly between twenty to thirty people. And yet, everyone sees their message, is exposed to it and has to process it; and worst of all, it slows down traffic to the speed of a drunken snail covered in molasses. These people really depress me, more than usual.

What’s the point to these people’s protests? Half of the signs that these people hold are not even directly related to wearing a mask; some simply have generic simpleton buzz-word filled slogans typically involving the words “freedom”, “rights”, “control”, “my choice”, etc. While another quarter proudly declare that COVID-19 is a seasonal flu despite it having existed for every season of the year now; and the last quarter of these people, so about half a dozen or so, are actually “protesting” against wearing masks, despite a majority of people in Kelowna don’t seem to wear them from my personal experience, and there not being a hard law declaring that citizens must wear a mask while in public spaces. It’s really just a mess of confusing disinformation and misplaced zeal. I have to drive by these people at least once a week, and, as one would assume, it gets exhausting quite quickly.

Then after I get home from work and after plodding along with the joys of homework, I get to unwind with a barrage of negative, depressing, worrying and miserable news from every online platform imaginable. And when you finally get some free time from both school and work to see how your, just as busy, friends are doing, half the conversation is commenting on the miserable situation of the planet; I think I may know more about each of the American political parties than the entire Canadian political system in its entirety. Eventually it’s shoved down your throat so much, that even when doing something completely unconnected to social media, you cannot help but to unconsciously begin to think of whatever headline you last read that’s bouncing around and begin to draw comparisons to whatever you are consuming. I worry a lot about the state of the world.

However, as a side effect of the exhausting twenty-four-hour news cycle from every available facet of social media, I have found myself becoming much more easily lethargic and overwhelmed by whatever my current reality needs me to deal with. Sometimes it manifests while eating a meal and suddenly you stop eating despite still feeling hungry but it’s simply too much effort to continue eating; other times it is in leaving an online zoom class partway through because you feel that it will be too exhausting to do anything other than lay in bed or sit in a chair and stare; or leaving a blog post ignored and not writing it until the last minute before it’s due. Hypothetically, of course.

So, if everything seems to be overwhelmingly negative for the past forever in recent memory, what is there to do to cope? Well it’s nigh impossible to escape your reality forever, as it’s what you are stuck with, but you can escape it for just a little while. Over the course of my relatively average and uneventful twenty years of life I have noticed that I have been consistently drawn to media, whether in the form of literature, video games, movies or tv shows, that is often dystopian, apocalyptic, etcetera (I know, how edgy). Given the relatively annoying events from over this year, I noticed that I have found myself being drawn increasingly darker forms of media. Maybe I’m a depressed, maybe it’s character development, probably a little bit of both.

One of the main reasons for doing so, I believe at least, is that I keep looking into these dystopian settings as a different form of escapism. Realities where humanity has scoured itself clean from the Earth’s surface by way of nuclear fire and now lives in the pits of depravity beneath the surface, to space age epics in which humans created a galaxy-spanning empire, fell to the ravages of artificial intelligences of their own creation and the remnants are the xenophobic, superstitious peoples who now thrive as they impose an authoritarian rule so brutal that it makes life in any historical dictatorship have seemingly tolerable living conditions. Science fiction is great in general at showing the worst of our species. Rather than spending my free time with these medias to temporarily go to a better reality, I instead seek out worse ones so that when I look at everything else going on across the planet, I can go “see it’s not so bad, this can be fixed one day.” It works only sometimes. There’s always the small cynical part of the brain that looks at these dystopian realities, compares it to what you’re living in and goes “we’re not too far off, one day we’ll be there and you’ll be responsible for your complacency.” In theory anyways.

But this doesn’t always work, sometimes it just makes your mood that much more miserable. So instead, you could run back in time to childhood innocence. Instead of spending my time in the aforementioned dreary fictional worlds, with my mood slowly swimming between melancholy and despair, sometimes I need to seek out more positive forms of media to remember that the world was not always a seemingly terrible place. To meet this need, I have been found that the natural world provides the best remedy, provided that you don’t look too deep into the survival aspect. Just things with wholesome endings/messages or involving the greens of spring and summer seem to help my headspace; even if I am too busy to go do something outdoors, and there isn’t much right now due to the oncoming winter. Some of my personal favorites include rereading specific scenes, the most wholesome ones, from books that you love, casual watching of any bits of the Shire from both the Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit because nothing is better than the soundtrack from those bits, exploring old fairy-tales involving fantastical elements that can give thoughts and dreams of a better reality. Really anything works from your childhood that causes you to reminisce on happy memories. Everyone needs a break from time to time, so here’s the epitome wholesomeness in my opinion: https://youtu.be/KQetemT1sWc

Well what’s the point of all of this? To complain? To cry out for attention? To preach? To finish this assignment so I don’t fail the class? Well I don’t know; that’s up to you because I have other work to go procrastinate on and you’ve probably zoned out from reading these blocks of text. So have a good day and remember to stay hydrated.

Hey all! I wrote a fictional story, in a sort of “choose your own adventure” fashion. I have linked all the music I referenced, and I encourage you to listen along with the story! I do think you need a Spotify account to access the links, so you can always search up the songs/albums too. The links are before the paragraph itself, so start listening, then scroll down to the specific paragraph. There are three different endings, hopefully you enjoy! 

I was awoken by the sound of “rock n roll” by Dijon.

This song is a personal favourite, filled with some of the best vocals around. This was my usual 8am alarm, but today it was set for 10:47am. As my eyes adjusted, I scanned my room. My sunburst guitar sat elegantly in her stand. Yesterday’s outfit (black baggy pants and my custom-made pink crop top) was sprawled on the carpet, and my record player laid waiting for me to say good morning. On this mild spring quarantine morning, I had all the time in the world. There was no one rushing me, there was no one leaning on me like I once leaned on her. Today is a day for me. I walked over to my record player in my bright blue underwear, and stared at my record collection. What to play this morning? 

For “Japan” by Worst Party Ever, go to paragraph 2.

For “Girlfriends” by Girlfriends, go to paragraph 4.

2. One of my all time favourite albums. Raw lyrics, emotional stories. It was also one of her favourites, and it always left me feeling sad. Maybe today was a day for emotions. I walked past my messy floor back to my bed, and grabbed my king sized fuzzy blanket. I sprawled it out, and proceeded to roll myself into a tight burrito. I was going to stay here for a while. Living alone during quarantine can be very taxing and lonely, I had discovered. CERB and excessive caffeine can only take one so far. She used quarantine as an excuse to break up with me without warning. We had been together for two years, and had relied on each other far too much. Or maybe that was just my problem. It’s only been a month, but I still hold on to that memory of us dancing under that one streetlight, the one that she always used to stare at, the one she kissed me under so passionately with her big boots and black jeans and cute shirt and soft lips and soft hair. My eyes filled with tears, just in time for the static of a completed record to bring me back to reality. Time for some coffee, I suppose. I propped myself up, unravelled my emotional burrito and threw on a hoodie and pyjama pants. Time for a new album.

I decided to play “What It Takes To Move Forward” by empire! empire! (i was a lonely estate).

Everyone goes through an emo phase, and while I am mostly out of mine, midwestern emo music keeps me coming back. A natural progression from Worst Party Ever’s acoustic, personal lyrics, this album keeps me in a sad state, but with a full band to comfort me by my side. They also have amazingly personal lyrics, and I find myself grooving along to the sadness. As I booted up my old, worn out coffee machine, I felt an immense pressure build in my chest. Looks like today really was a day for me, a day for me to feel overwhelmingly anxious. Anxiety and caffeine usually make a great combo, they complement each other. Feeling like this was not unusual, given the amount of time I had been spending at home, alone, without her. I wonder often if other people are in the same boat as me, one stranded at sea, one without love. Quarantine was really beginning to deteriorate my mental health. Why do I always have to be so dramatic? Why can’t I reach out to the ones I love, and tell them how I feel? What is it like to try, to love? Why can’t I be that attractive man from the movies? The sweet one that gets the girl, that isn’t phased by loss, the one that is confident with himself. I feel my brain swelling. Not with great learning, but with great sadness, with great anguish. It swells, swells, swells, and it finally bursts. In a firework display, my brains splatter on the wall behind me. My un-sipped coffee spills all over the floor, creating a tie-dye style stain on my grey hoodie. My body collapses, and is finally free of tension. I am no longer alive, but no longer trapped. Sometimes, it feels best to get out, no matter the cost.

Ending 1 completed! 

4. A classic pick. My “get shit done” album. 30 minutes long, full of catchy riffs and quality production, especially for a 2009 album. I’ve always considered it ahead of its time. I cleaned my surroundings faster than ever, and was in the shower by the time “Yeah!? What’s it Tuba!?” had barely begun. Today really was a day for me, a day to almost feel as though I wasn’t trapped within myself, trapped within the confines of my home. Post shower, I grabbed my Scooby-Doo beach towel to dry myself off (towels were much more expensive than I had anticipated). I wrapped it around my slim waist, and proceeded to shave my week-long scruff. I shaved with the precision of a blind archer, and cut my face repeatedly. Nothing new here. With toilet paper stuck to my face, I went to make myself some coffee. I opened the window, and could taste the spring air. The sun was out, birds were chirping, and I swear I even saw a squirrel run across the fence, with a face full of nuts, preparing for the cold months ahead. The day seemed almost too perfect, and I couldn’t miss the opportunity to go outside. Today was a day for me, after all. I poured my coffee into my teal travel mug, put in my dangly sun and moon earrings, threw on the same outfit as the day before, and set out on my grand adventure. With my earbuds in, it was time to pick something new to listen to. 

For “Cerulean” by Baths, go to paragraph 5.

For “Crumbling” by Mid-Air Thief, go to paragraph 7. 

5. A perfect introduction to the world of glitch pop. Experimental music that focuses on stylistic production, clashing rhythms and catchy melodies. It takes pop music to an almost surreal level. I lock my door behind me, and begin my adventure in the outdoor world. It feels different than when I was out last. The air is too clean, the sun is too bright. Must just be my lucky day. A short two minutes from my home lies a park. A paved walking path surrounds a playground, filled with wood chips and bright blue, yellow and red play structures. I used to play in this park when I was younger, when times were simpler. Now it is a symbol of how quickly things can change. It is surrounded by caution tape, to prevent the spread of the virus. It seems that even parts of the outdoor world are locked down. I approach the park, and walk a lap around the playground, staring. The perfect, gleaming sun follows me as I walk, keeping my body warm and my brain busy. I notice not a single other person around, one time down the slide wouldn’t hurt anyone, would it? My Doc Marten covered feet take off, and I run through the caution tape like a first place marathon runner. Today was my day to win. I approach the bright red swirly slide, and throw myself down. Five seconds pass. Ten seconds pass. Thirty seconds pass, and I am still swirling down the bright red slide. After an unknown amount of time, I am knocked unconscious, and my limp body is finally ejected from the bloody mouth of the slide.

I am awoken by a screeching from my earbuds. With my eyes still closed, I rip them out, only to hear “Republic of Rough and Ready” by Hella playing around me.

It is coming from every direction. Whoever made this choice made a great one. Who doesn’t love some Zach Hill drumming and unreplicatable rhythms after being unconscious? Upon opening my pale blue eyes, I notice the world has changed. The overly bright sun has turned swirly slide red, and the elegant scenery has faded to dull versions of its original self. Not only have the colours changed, but upon looking down, I notice that I am now standing on what once was the sky, with the sun below me. The playground sits high in the sky, replacing the sun. And to think, today was supposed to be a me day, a day to get out of the quarantining for just a little bit. Beats me for leaving my place, I suppose. Relatively unphased, I walk on the sky towards the sun. Its deep red truly is captivating. It has some sort of pull, like when you see the one you love smile at you. You can’t just walk away from that, now can you? It gets warmer as I approach, and my pink jaggedly cut crop top evaporates off my body. I do not notice the heat. I find myself ten feet away from the burning red ball, all skin melted off my body, all scenery turned white. I am but a skeleton in a box of white, but I still feel unique. I guess this is what it feels like to take a day for myself. 

Ending 2 completed!

7. This South-Korean dream pop album is perfect for any adventure. You won’t be able to understand any lyrics (unless you speak Korean), but the immaculate production and one of a kind melodies and beats will make up for it. I venture into town, strolling past the closed shops and empty parking spots. There are few people on the street, and I smile through my mask at those I pass. It really does feel nice to get outside for once, I should do this more often. I reach the end of the downtown, and approach a beach. It is small, and covered in fine, grey sand. The waves crash up against the shore in a polyrhythmic fashion. There is but one person on the beach, reading on a picnic blanket. They have lovely black hair that flows down to their mid back, and they are dressed in baggy jeans and a baggy sweater, hiding their curves. Without seeing their face, I know they are beautiful. I position myself on the bench near them, my awkward self not wanting to approach them directly. I have nothing to read but my feelings, and they read them too. Without consent, my feelings become words on their open book. I hear a giggle, and they get up and pack their things. They walk over, leave their book with me, and walk away. 

I walked home immediately afterwards, book in hand. I busted through my own door, and threw on “ART SCHOOL CRUSH” by NNAMDÏ.

Not only was this song relevant to my increased, love struck heart pounding, it’s also just a fantastically funny, but groovy, song to listen to. I was convinced this was a message for me, they read my feelings after all. They were bound to have left me a deep, emotional message confessing their love for me. I cracked my knuckles, successfully cracking eight out of ten of them, and flipped open the leatherbound book. Blank. Every page was blank. I flipped through the book over and over, looking for something I had missed, only to be comforted by the same blank pages. Well, so much for a grand adventure it seems. I threw the book on the counter, ripped off my black baggy pants, and proceeded to sit on the couch. I wrapped myself up  in my king sized fuzzy blanket, and moped the night away. I guess this is why I never go out anymore. 

Ending 3 completed!

 

I often wonder how the world will come to an end. It’s only a matter of time. The real question is whose hand it will be by. Scientists say it won’t naturally happen for at least another 3.5 billion years, when the sun expands and burns hot enough to vaporize our oceans and, by proxy, eliminate most if not all land-dwelling creatures. But of course this is circumstantial, as astrophysicists have also said that if, by any means, the sun creates even a single atom of iron somewhere deep inside its boiling belly, the whole thing will blow up, and our solar system at large will more than likely cease to exist. A comforting thought, to be sure. The Mayans predicted it was going to happen eight years ago, or so some people have said. Still others say that if we continue to hurtle down our path of climate change, it will only be about fifty years at best before our world becomes nigh-unlivable. People of various religions claim it could happen whenever their respected God decides we’ve had enough, and from there things are to be determined.

Certainly I think we’ve all had enough of this year, one with enough bad stuff to spread liberally across the entire decade. But I’m one who likes to think concisely, and be one to have an answer, even if said answer is an unfathomable one. But we don’t have a definitive answer on the end of the world, nor an unfathomably vague one. Who is there to believe? There’s truth in everything. My father taught me something important when I was younger that I still live by to this day, though I’m sure he isn’t the proprietor of this teaching. He told me that when there’s an argument, it’s best to hear out both sides, because each side will inevitably have some truth and some lie in it. You take both sides of the story and consider them. Somewhere in the middle, between the opposing thoughts, is the truth.

So I take into consideration all that has happened to us as humans this year. How polarized we all are about this and that. How unwilling so many people are to work together despite our differences. And truth be told, it’s really scary to be somewhere in the middle. It feels like you’re the bone between which two stray dogs are fighting over, threatening to snap you in half. Here I find solidarity in the worlds of J.R.R. Tolkien, spoken through the mouth of Bilbo Baggins:

“I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread.”

from The Fellowship of the Ring

On the one hand, both sides of the argument threaten to “cancel” you, to shut you down and ensure you never have a say because of a single slip up, or an differing opinion that doesn’t follow the rhetoric. On the other, you have a philosophy that you want to live by, and things you want to say that make you expressly human. I want to be able to think freely and not feel the threat of someone getting angry at me, or breaking off what seemed to be a good relationship simply because I don’t always agree with them on everything.

I’m a naturally cautious individual, certainly not shy. So many introverts such as myself are misidentified as not wanting to speak up because we’re shy. Instead, I like to think we bide our time. For in those very few moments where we are able to actually fit in a word edgewise, we have to make it count. We have to make sure we don’t slip up and make ourselves look dumb, because there are precious few words left to fix those mistakes. Then if you take a look at the current state of society, it makes it that much harder to want to speak up lest you look dumb or uninformed or even just unbiased on hot-button issues. I spend a great deal of my time alone with my own mind as my only companion, crafting up my next statements so as to ensure I’m not sidelined or made irrelevant.

It’s hard to write this even now, because I’m speaking from the heart instead of from the mind. Being on the Internet usually helps, because you are just one person in a murky crowd of so many others, each with their own thoughts to share. However, given the circumstances, I’m here, offering my thoughts to a limited pool of people, people who really don’t know me well, but well enough to judge me based on my words rather than my character. I’m not being trying to be critical of those who will read this rambling. I’m not saying that by expressing myself I will be immediately be written off and never heard from again, but rather that every time you speak, regardless of who to, you always run a risk of it.

On the topic of words, I’ve wanted to be a writer from a very young age. So naturally I have words to offer to the melting pot that is society. That is my gift to contribute to humanity. However, those very words are under threat of being rejected, extinguished, diminished, and eradicated just for existing. Of course, this scares me. If all I have to offer is words, but I say the wrong thing, I won’t be allowed to offer those words anymore. I fear if that happens those words would well up inside of me and I would certainly explode.

I want to be able to share these words with people, and not at arm’s length. I long, especially now after weeks of being inside and away from the people and places and things that I love, for the ability to sit down with someone and have an intimate conversation. I want to be able to pour out all these built up emotions that I have been holding back without fear of hasty repercussion. I want to feel like I belong amongst the whole of humanity, rather than be part of the group which is fought over for the benefit of this or that. In other words, I don’t want to feel like that butter, spread too thinly across a piece of bread.

This has been an extremely cathartic experience. It helps, but only temporarily of course. Soon I’ll learn of more bad news, which calls to mind the meme that has been floating around the internet courtesy of The Simpsons, in which Bart says:

“This is the worst day of my life.”

To which Homer replies, with finger extended to emphasize his point:

“The worst day of your life so far.”

And I think, “Wow.”

I mean, when The Simpsons are right, they are most certainly right. Who’s to say 202o surpasses all when we have anywhere from a few more seconds to 3.5 billion more years ahead of us? Maybe it’s time to think a bit more positively. I personally think about all the time I’ll be able to spend with friends and family when lockdowns are finally let up, all the stuff I’ll be able to encounter and the things I will be able to learn in person. All of the different foods I’ll be able to eat again, and the list goes on.

Coronavirus sure has sucked for everyone, though undoubtedly more for some than others. In fact, to say that it “sucked” for those who lost their lives to the virus is an extreme undermining of their sacrifice. In this case, I’m not trying to be offensive to those who have suffered an exorbitant amount. Truth be told, COVID has stolen lives, jobs, relationships, face-to-face social interaction, and everything else under the sun. But it has (for the most part) united us all under a common goal: do what we can for our fellow humans and for ourselves to ensure a healthier world. We’ll all come out of this changed people, and it might be a positive step towards unification. After all, it’s through suffering that change is brought about. I think back in history to times like the Spanish Inquisition, the Black Plague, World War I, the Great Depression, the Spanish Flu, World War II, et cetera, et cetera. Did we not come out of all of these moments of great suffering stronger people? Certainly just as many people lost their livelihoods and, for some, their lives at large, but many came out of it with great lessons to pass onto the next generations- lessons of friendship, of community, of the pure tenacity of the human spirit.

And so I have no doubt that we will overcome all that has been thrown at us over this year. We’ll have lessons to pass on to our children and in turn they will pass it on to theirs.

And if worse is to come, we’ll be ready.

This past year has been one to eat away at a sense of progress, a belief that, in the end, we come up ahead. For the most part, we are fed myths of victories and great accomplishments; most fiction preserves the myth, essentially creating a positive feedback. Doesn’t the hero (in most works) always come ahead? Aren’t insurmountable dangers always surmountable in the end? Don’t we look at images of lone warriors facing enemies taller than mountains and just know that the warrior, at a millionth of her enemy’s volume, will defeat the giant in battle?

And at the same time, we only have to check the news in whichever way we do to feel something like despair—or outright despair, helplessness, loneliness, darkness closing in (or light leaving you; the description is at your discretion). I know, this is a huge generalization, and certainly some readers will be quick to disagree—perhaps even the majority. But these two things are not mutually exclusive: we may die, we may be defeated, our country taken, our people devastated and pushed close to a fate of darkness. Still, in the end we may remain. We’ll be stories or teachings to kids who will never have to face extinction of their people.

There! That’s where tape is peeling off, where the shadows flicker and we realize we’ve been hidden in a cave our whole lives and we await anxiously, shivering of cold as we emerge from the exhausting sleep and terrifying nightmares, waiting for Plato to come and undo the shackles, as we try to stretch legs and arms that are all but petrified, turned to stone, and there might be a beautiful Sun or it might yet be another show but I can’t turn my head, and Plato promised to guide us out and why are the shadows on the wall laughing and—

And so on. Or, why, if we always come ahead, is everything still going to shit?

The Weather Will not Change

Some 8 years ago, I found something I still treasure to this day. Before telling you—as I can’t help to—, I’ll show you:

“Last night Boris discovered that he was lousy. […] We might never have known each other so intimately, Boris and I, had it not been for the lice.
Boris has just given me a summary of his views. He is a weather prophet. The weather will continue bad, he says. There will be more calamities, more death, more despair. Not the slightest indication of a change anywhere. The cancer of time is eating us away. Our heroes have killed themselves, or are killing themselves. The hero, then is not Time, but Timelessness. We must get in step, a lock step, toward the prison of death. There is no escape. The weather will not change.”

Thus begins Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer. Of the hundreds of books I’ve read, only a few passages have impacted me enough to spontaneously come to mind now and then (and most are Henry’s). The passage, to me, has change shapes since I first read it. Good, I’ve learnt something.

In a sea of love stories, of heroes that limp through the finish line, of underdogs who always end up in some pinnacle, Miller acknowledged the rest of life.

Because it is true, isn’t it? The weather will continue bad, it will not change. For every headline that describes humanitarian relief in a country stricken by a hurricane, there is a hurricane and thousands left without a home, children scarred by a horror only many unfortunate others can understand. And more extreme, violent hurricanes are sure to follow. For every grand discovery in cancer research, there are approximately .0001 novel therapeutics that (in the U.S.) will set you for a life of indebtedness. For every tree planted a thousand more are burnt for the delicious Nutella we will shit out tomorrow.

And so forth.

Time

Moreover, there were no more heroes. Back then, I was still hopeful, despite everything. I held grand dreams not just for me, but for everyone, too. In time, bruises would leave marks, broken bones would mend with only a callus to show, and the most peaceful time in the human era would only more peaceful. In time, economic development would reach every country, and decency would become a human right. In time, clever minds would correct climate, fix food insecurity, grant us all a 4-day-workweek. In time, there would be no use for hate anymore, no need to defend what little we have from others; no envy, no jealousy, no loneliness. Not that there would be no pain—even then I was sure pain is a necessary human experience—but any barriers to self-actualization would be demolished, leaving us free to be in just the way we wanted to be.

My dreams, at least, would happen in my lifetime. For the rest of humanity, it was a matter of time.

Things here and there began taking huge strides backward. The most impactful would be two Presidential elections in two different countries that, through dissimilar means, arrived at similar leaders—an ugly flaw of civilized era. It is not necessary to say more—those who agree are too familiar with the feelings of being warped into an absurd dream, and those who don’t are helpless at understanding.

My hopes vanished. No, we haven’t been annihilated in nuclear war because of one rambling tweet at odd hours of the night, but it is naive to ring the bell after the fact… Of course, a lot of people would not think twice before calling me an alarmist, among other things. The clouds above are getting heavy, and it seems that the few that have some certainty of the trouble ahead are getting drowned out by those who are unmovably confident in their own ideas and pride.

I could easily continue describing these things, but it is not necessary. The weather will continue bad. We can’t steer the ship ourselves. What can we do, then?

Timelessness and the Creative Process

A couple of sentences after the paragraph above, Miller continues:

“I have no money, no resources, no hopes. I am the happiest man alive. A year ago, six months ago, I thought that I was an artist. I no longer think about it, I am.”

Unlike Boris and his lice, I am not a weather prophet. I am, however, a writer–not because I like writing (finding a writer who likes to write is rare), but because I feel like I have to write, if just for myself. Writing is a shortcut.

And as a shortcut, instead of hurting your eyes with my words, I’ll leave another passage from Henry Miller’s Sexus: The Rosy Crucifixion I. The sentence I’ve emphasized is enough to make the point.

“The creative individual (in wrestling with his medium) is supposed to experience a joy which balances, if it does not outweight, the pain and anguish which accompany the struggle to express himself. He lives in his work, we say. But this unique kind of life varies extremely with the individual. It is only in the measure that he is aware of more life, the life abundant, that he may be said to live in his work. If there is no realization there is no purpose or advantage in substituting the imaginative life for the purely adventurous one of reality. Every one who lifts himself above the activities of the daily round does so not only in the hope of enlarging his field of experience, or even of enriching it, but of quickening it. Only in this sense does struggle have any meaning. Accept this view, and the distinction between failure and success is nil. And this is what every great artist comes to learn en route—that the process in which he is involved has to do with another dimension of life, that by identifying himself with this process he augments life. In this view of things he is permanently removed—and protected—from that insidious death which seems to triumph all about him. He divines that the great secret will never be apprehended but incorporated in his very substance. He has to make himself a part of the mystery, live in it as well as with it. Acceptance is the solution: it is an art, not an egotistical, performance on the part of the intellect. Through art then, one finally establishes contact with reality: that is the great discovery. Here all is play and invention; there is no solid foothold from which to launch the projectiles which will pierce the miasma of folly, ignorance and greed. The world has not to be put in order: the world is order incarnate. It is for us to put ourselves in unison with this order, to know what is the world order in contradistinction to the wishful−thinking orders which we seek to impose on one another. The power which we long to possess, in order to establish the good, the true and the beautiful, would prove to be, if we could have it, but the means of destroying one another. It is fortunate that we are powerless.”

Though Miller is a writer, and certainly, the passage is with respect to writing and other arts, I would argue that it is not the expression which commands the artist, but the state of development in which creation occurs. We have to tap into the internal life to create something of value [for ourselves]. Being in this state, touching what is intangible, untangling what exists only as a shape-shifting mass of cords, we alter what we explore. Or perhaps we find better ways of navigating these internal waters. Nevertheless, spending time there we become more adept at realizing the figures that lie just beyond our grasp. We build upon things that are already there.

But it’s the process of creating what compels us. It’s a shortcut to self-actualizing. Long ago, millennia before Maslow devised his hierarchy, artists all around were in on this secret. A lot of artists work on empty stomachs, actualizing themselves with each stroke of the paintbrush, feeling the need for little more–at least for those timeless moments.

Inevitably, the outer world bleeds into this inner world; thankfully, the converse is true. Exploring our inner world, our ideas and the ideas of others, is a way of adapting to an inadaptable world. Exploring the outer world through our ideas is also advantageous.

This has been a year full of death, of despair. I no longer have the certainty that we have accrued favor with the gods, that Time is on our side. These years have been a reality check for the societies we’ve built up, to these monuments of what the human spirit is capable of with hard work and a sharp eye.

Though there is no end in sight, and though the sky will not clear even after this pandemic is past us (not to speak of the ones to come), for me, it’s enough to dream of being a writer to remove myself from the insidious death that, even almost a century after Boris prophesized it, continues to triumph over everything.